Authors: Natalie Dae
Waiting for Him (4 page)
The paddle connected with her arse, and she let out a
whoomph
of air and a strangled groan. She hadn’t been expecting him to strike so quickly, and cursed herself for
not
being ready. The hit was light enough that she only received a smidgen of pain compared to what she’d endured in the past, although someone being spanked for the first time might say it was more than a smidgen. For her it was much like the bite of the whip, something she had grown accustomed to. But he had gone easy on her—too easy—and despite the warring emotions inside her—
you should have struck me hard straight off, John… I’m glad you didn’t hit me full force… God, I’m so glad you didn’t do that
—she allowed a second or two to berate herself then relaxed. Waited for the next hit. Her arse stung in what felt like a million places, a million pinpricks of delight that burrowed from the surface of her skin right down into her hip bones. She liked it, loved it, adored it, and for a moment wondered, if this light hit gave so much pleasure, what a harder one would deliver.
John struck again, double the strength of the first one, and her body shunted up the table. She almost lost her grip on the edge, and as a shout of surprise brewed she inhaled deeply, losing herself in the million pinpricks becoming twofold, the heat of pain tunnelling deeper still, right into her damn marrow. She shuddered, the kick of getting what she wanted streaking through her to mesh with the sensations of pain. Her breath caught in her throat, her head spun, and one of her knees jolted.
“Are you all right, pet?”
She nodded again, catching her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Is there anything you want to say?” he asked.
“More. Do it again. Harder. Sir.”
She lifted her head and glanced back at him, primarily to check whether he was willing to go further but also to let him see her eyes. The naked want in them, the message that she was fine, that she could handle this.
“Very well, pet.”
He lifted the paddle and for a split second she toyed with the idea of watching it arc, seeing it soar through the air then hit her. Instead, she closed her eyes and managed the count of ‘one Mississippi’ before that stud-covered rectangle whacked onto her arse, overlapping the previous site by what she judged as a couple of inches, gifting fresh, deliciously spiteful pain to the skin closest to her crack. Her flesh quivered from the assault, sending ripples of movement down her arse cleft and into the pulsating folds of her cunt. She wanted to order him to strike again, harder, faster, with barely any space in between, a full-on, frenzied thrashing that would have her sinking to her knees, her hands sliding over the tabletop as she scrabbled to regain purchase.
“What do you want, pet?”
“Lots more. One after the other. Quickly, Sir.”
She angled her head and opened her eyes, looking at him in the mirror. He didn’t meet her eyes in the reflection but studied her in person. A curved curtain of his hair hung against one cheek, the ends resting on his shoulder, the other side flicked back so she could see all of his face. She felt like a voyeur, ogling his bare emotions this way, like someone spying on a private moment that wasn’t meant for anyone else’s eyes. But he wasn’t one to shy away from expressing himself—he’d given her all of himself too many months ago to count.
Guilt prickled her. So why couldn’t she do the same for him? Why did she feel she needed to hold on to that one remaining thing?
Because if I let myself go completely…I risk getting hurt.
Shoving that thought aside, she held her breath as he lifted his arm. He grimaced, possibly steeling himself for the barrage she’d requested, then brought his arm down. This time she watched the paddle meet her flesh, surprised he had used the non-studded side to give her a flat, rigid slap to her arse cheek. About to protest, Shara was stunned into silence as, on the upswing, he flipped the paddle around then swung it down again, stud side on skin. She held back a scream through fear he’d think she was crying out from the pain being too harsh, and dug her top teeth into her lower lip. She gave in to the experience, seeing him repeat the motions—flat side, stud side, flat side—knowing he would continue now, his hair swinging along with his arm, his eyes flickering to check her face for signs of any distress.
It hurt. Pain unlike any other streaked from the landing sites and echoed throughout her body. Homed in on her soul and squeezed, twisting and ripping, urging her to let go, to admit that it was too much. But, God, it was more than she’d imagined. Better. Fulfilling. The vibrations created were horrendous yet beautiful, the splashes of pure hot stinging a tortured delight. She struggled to keep her eyes open, wanting to see what he was doing yet wishing she could just drift away. There she was, one foot outside that outer circle, the other in. It would only take a second to float to the place where she could hover above herself, watching, seeing, but not feeling the pain as starkly as it was now. He continued slapping, his movements a blur, his breathing ragged, his grunts loud, and at last the thrumming in her clit began. With each strike her cunt buzzed, and she pressed herself to the table, gyrating so her hard nipples gained some friction. She licked her lips, a scream flowing between them soon after, and then her knees gave way.
She sank to the floor as she’d imagined she would. John tossed the paddle aside and went down on his knees beside her, cradling her to him and murmuring that she would be all right.
“I’ve got you, pet. I’ve got you…”
The heels of her feet grazed the tender flesh of her arse, producing a fresh zing of pleasure in her clit. She rested her brow on his shoulder, shifting so she straddled him. Quickly, she unpopped the button of his trousers then drew down his zip, impatient to release his cock. It jutted out, a beckoning temptation she wanted to lick, to suck into her mouth until the head bumped the back of her throat, but her cunt was too needy—she was too needy. Being filled was uppermost on her mind. She positioned him at her entrance, gripping his shoulders, then lifted her head.
As she lowered onto him, the burn of his girth stretching her wet and greedy hole, her gaze fixed on his eyes, she whispered, “
Renoncer
…”
He didn’t respond with anything except crushing her to him and pressing his mouth to hers, giving her a spine-tingling, toe-curling kiss where he seemed to infuse her with his love. Tendrils of it spiralled in search of her soul, her heart, and touched her there with tender, wonderful fingers. Liberation sped through her veins, leached out of her body and onto the surface of her skin, spreading everywhere to envelop her in the safety freedom provided. She held back a sob as they kissed, raising one hand to grip his long hair and fist it. She started a frantic up-and-down rhythm, the width of him growing, the stretch of her cunt exquisite. Each time she lowered and her sore arse cheek met with the material of his trousers, it reminded her of what she had discovered.
“I understand, pet. Believe me, I understand.”
John broke their kiss and Shara leant back to look into his lust-darkened eyes.
He stared at her for a moment, blinking several times. “Good girl,” he whispered, the words permeated with a breathy quality, as though he didn’t trust himself to speak any louder. Glancing down, he murmured, “Look at that, pet. Look at the way your cunt lips move. Look at that wet ring of flesh around my cock.”
She did as he’d instructed, what he’d said encouraging a flourish of desire to flood her system. The sight of him inside her uncoiled the built-up excitement in her clit. It reached out as what she imagined to be shimmering vines that grew as fast as weeds, seeking out her pleasure spots. Her channel spasmed, clutching his cock so she had to work harder to move him in and out. She rose quickly then slammed down forcefully, repeating the action again, again, again until her cunt grew wetter. She flung her head back and delighted in the slide of him, slippery from her juices.
John tweaked her nipples, giving them short, sharp yanks towards him. She pushed her chest into his hands, then eased backwards, gazing down to look at how her buds distended and the lower swell of her breasts lifted. She grunted at the same time as John, pushing herself closer to the ultimate climax, wanting him to come at the same time.
“That’s it, pet,” he ground out.
She raised her head and stared at him, pumping up and down, sweat breaking out on her forehead. She went for it, a frantic fuck, bliss growing in intensity until she held her breath, awaiting to crest the peak. She reached it swiftly, tightened her grip on his hair and shoulder and let out an animalistic moan. She sounded primal, feral, and John groaned in response, jerking at her nipples, the heels of his hands resting on the lower half of her breasts.
“I’m coming,” he said, still staring at her. “Fuck, Christ, I’m coming…”
She upped her pace, canting her hips slightly and moving forward a touch so his skin abraded her clit. She gyrated on his patch of hairs each time she drew his full length inside, grinding, then rocked in quick-fire moves. He let go of one hard bud, smoothing his hand down her side to cup her tender arse cheek. His palm on her skin awoke the semi-slumbering pain, and that was all she needed to send her crashing over. She cried out, long and lusty, every nerve ending on fire. Darts of pleasure rippled from her cunt, a constant throb-and-thrum of ecstasy. Her body juddered, creating more rasping on her clit, and a gabble of nonsensical words poured out of her mouth.
“Come, pet, come. That’s…ah…it. Come…” John said.
She went to respond but John slapped her arse—hard—stunning her into silence. She shut her eyes. His hot cum heated her channel, seeping down as she rose up. Shara tried to soak up every feeling at once—cock in cunt, hand on arse, finger and thumb on her nipple, John’s hot, heavy breaths on her chest, her neck, her ear—but couldn’t bring them all together. They were fractions that made her orgasm whole, and as much as she tried to gather them together they remained apart, each sensation eddying in their various locations, driving her insane.
“I can’t… Sir, I can’t… Too much…”
“I’ve got you, pet,” he panted. “I’ve always got you.”
John held her waist, moving her up and down so she could relax against him as he shot the last of his cum, a series of judders overtaking him. She took the opportunity to come down from the euphoria slowly, feeling her
self
sinking back into her body, returning from that special place John always took her to.
He stilled her, and she nestled her face into the crook of his neck, her breaths hot and ragged. Her chest felt sore, as though she needed to take a deep breath, but only able to manage shallow inhalations, she waited for stability to return.
“Are you all right, pet?” he asked, voice hoarse.
“I said it,” she whispered. “I said it.”
“You did.” He stroked her hair, her back, her arse. “And now you fully belong to me.”
* * * *
A little later, Shara lightly kissed John’s cheek, then climbed from the playroom bed, leaving him dozing. She walked into the living room, taking the phone handset from its base as she walked past, then went into their bedroom to make a call.
The man on the other end was surprised to hear from her, but nevertheless she reminded him of his promise to her not so long ago. He had quite forgotten, he said. Sorry, I’ll fix things right away, he said.
She responded with pleasantries, although they both knew he couldn’t afford not to do as she’d asked. He hadn’t forgotten—he’d simply thought she wouldn’t carry out her threat.
He didn’t know her very well.
It seemed she’d still held on to a sliver of that stubbornness…
* * * *
My pet,
Good news. Jacobson has decided to work with us after all. What do you say we celebrate this evening? The paddle again? Or would you rather I visit the store and pick up something new? The choice is yours, my sub with a touch of Dom. All yours.
Also available from Total-E-Bound Publishing:
Fantasies Explored: Thinking Kinkier
Natalie Dae
Excerpt
Chapter One
I needed him—now.
The anticipation of tonight, the luxurious weekend stretching ahead, had burned me inside and out all day. Thoughts of Kline, drifts of memories, and the teasing images of what he did to me had taunted, as though tangible—real things with a mind of their own that knew which buttons to press in order to torment me. He’d arrive home soon, but not soon enough, and we’d go to the hotel, play out our fantasies for hours until the time came to return here. To a life like any other, where no one except those at the BDSM club we attended knew our particular desires.
I had packed our things earlier—paddles, handcuffs, silk scarves and a slim vibrator—with almost idle movements, knowing many hours needed to pass before we’d actually use them. The rest of the day had been spent in tense expectancy in our new home, the hands on the clock shifting too slowly, the tick an interminable, mocking jeer in the background. I wondered, too many times to count, what Kline was doing at any given moment, envisaged him trying to get through the day like I was. Did he long to rush home during lunch, or take the afternoon off and whisk me away early? I hoped he did, hoped he wanted me as much as I wanted him.
And, God, did I want him.
A stiff breeze soughed through the open window, chilling my legs as I rested naked on our bed, suitcase beside me where Kline should have been. I looked at it, a poor substitute for the dark-haired, broad-shouldered man who had the ability to send me to my knees. To beg. To plead. To border on screaming the safe word just so that he would stop paddling or smacking, plunge inside me and fuck me senseless.
Nipples standing erect from more than just the cold air, I rose and walked over to the window, stared at the billowing curtains, more for something to do than anything else. I strained to hear the sound of his car as it rumbled up the lane running along the front of our property. We had previously lived in a New York City apartment block, our weekends away giving us the freedom to fuck and scream and come loudly without bothering the neighbours. But those weekends hadn’t been enough, and we made a snap decision to relocate to the outskirts where our house stood alone with no one to hear us at night—or during the day if we were home and had a mind to fuck. It had been a good decision, but the weekends away hadn’t stopped, and I wasn’t sorry about that. They were a special part of our relationship and always would be. We looked forward to them, and I was as eager now as I had been that first time, the promise of heady sex and being together with no stress a huge factor in keeping those weekend dates.
I sighed, wishing I heard his tyres crunching over the gravel drive, the popping sounds growing louder as he drew closer.
Closer to holding me in his arms and kissing the monotony of the day away.
Fuck, I loved him.
The drapes no longer held my attention, and I sat on the window seat, settling my gaze on smooth legs that would soon jolt with every smack of the paddle, judder when he sank his cock inside me, and finally give way altogether when I could stand no more. I loved it when that happened, when he owned me totally and I was at his complete mercy. Kline had a habit of breaking me every time, honing in on my weakest areas and tapping at them until I was exhausted, spent to the point I had no energy. He was good at that—too good—and I never quite got the better of him. And I’d
tried
to switch once or twice, tried to bend him to my will, but inevitably the sub in me relented and I let him have his way. How could I not? His dominance was too much of a lure, and seeing where he would take me, which boundaries would be breached, was all part of the attraction.
There it was at last, that faint, low growl I’d recognise anywhere, then a slight rise in pitch as he revved the engine in his eagerness to get home. Stomach muscles bunching, I stood, one hand clutching the window frame, fingertips throbbing from the pressure, the other splayed flat across my belly. I held my breath and squinted to see the red blur of his car through the trees bordering the lane. Heart rate climbing, pulse throbbing in my throat and temples, I swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.
The blur streaked for a second, only to disappear as the trees grew thicker and the bend in the road took him out of my view. That he was speeding pleased me, it meant he wanted to see me badly, yet at the same time I worried that his haste would one day take him away for good.
I couldn’t bear that.
Silently, I urged him to slow, to take his time. Reaching me a minute or two later and in one piece was preferable to not at all. I stopped myself thinking that way, instead delighting in the emotions he inspired, the way my body reacted—the further swelling of my nipples, the increasing dampness between my legs and the inevitable lump in my throat.
And there he was, on the home stretch, the green and yellow countryside a backdrop, where I could watch his approach unhindered by leaves and branches, a clear view of that little red car with my man inside. I wished I could tell him, show him just how much he meant to me, but words could not express the depth, and my hands roaming his body couldn’t
feel
enough of him to get my meaning across adequately. But he knew, didn’t he? Knew by the touches, the soft and sometimes bruising meeting of our lips, the way I moaned his name when I came.
He had been slightly different since our last visit to the hotel. More needy, wanting assurance that I wasn’t going to run off and leave him. I knew why that was—the threesome we’d had threw him off balance—and I strove to ensure he knew there was nothing to worry about. That extra man, Jack, had been an itch I’d just wanted to scratch. But still, I was sure Kline’s mind played tricks on him. Indeed, if it had been another woman in our bed, in our world, I would feel the same way. A few sharp stabs of jealousy and a large spoonful of ‘what if’ would go a long way to making sure my mind was a mess along with raw, tangled emotions. Part of me wished that particular fantasy hadn’t belonged to me. That he hadn’t indulged my desires.
I wanted—needed—him and only him. I wasn’t sure how to tell him that when my previous assurances hadn’t appeared to do much beyond easing his worries for the hour or two after he’d let his true feelings slip out. He was a Dom, but it didn’t mean he didn’t
feel
. I loved that about him, the way he took control, became this whole other person in the bedroom, yet when out of it, although clearly a strong man emotionally, slight chinks in his armour were becoming more and more apparent. Maybe that was why he was hell-bent on taking me to subspace. Perhaps my inability to do so in the past told him lies—that he wasn’t the right man for me. The man who could take me there.
If only he knew,
believed
, he was the
only
man who could do it.
Clit aching, I resisted the urge to cup myself, to press the heel of my hand against the incessant throb. Kline had told me not to masturbate today, to let the excitement of tonight build without release. It had been difficult. Several times my fingers had strayed, and his words had floated into my mind, stopped me dipping a finger into my wetness or rubbing that swelling ball of nerves that he would later take into his mouth and suck. He was a master at knowing exactly how much pressure to apply, how long I could go with him teasing me before the excitement reached a level I couldn’t return from. Many times I thought I had arrived, only for him to take his mouth away, trail his tongue over other parts of my body until the burn, that nearly all-consuming burn, faded a little.
I groaned, jerked my hand away from where it had been heading—to the soft, delicate flesh between my legs, growing wetter by the second—let go of the window frame and knitted my fingers together. The safest thing to do, that. My breath hitched as he swung the car into the driveway and sped along the gravel, coming to a lurching stop right in front of the house. He was home, and our weekend trying something new was about to begin. Swallowing again, then breathing deeply to calm my racing heart, I remained at the window to watch him emerge. So he could see me naked. He flung open the car door, so hard that it rocked on its hinges, and got out, glancing up at me with a look so intense I knew he’d fought through his day too.
He’d ran his hand through his dark hair several times today if the mess of it was anything to go by—a tousled, cunt-spasming mess that reminded me of how it looked after
my
fingers had travelled through it. It had grown some over the past month. Gone were the shorter spikes, replaced by soft waves long enough for me to grip in tight fists. I wanted his hair in my hands now, the ends of it brushing my palms, tickling for a second or two before I gripped hard and held his head steady as he lapped my slit.
His dark grey suit, crinkled at the inner elbows, flapped open revealing his usual white shirt. I made out the darker hue of his skin beneath it, and the even darker circle of nipple. I wanted to take it into my mouth and tease it into a tight nub. Swirl my tongue around it and flick-flick-flick. To hear him groan, to say if I sucked any longer he’d come.
Please don’t, Anna. Stop. I’m going to…
Another breeze gusted, lifting his tie and leading it into a merry dance before depositing it, askew, flat against his chest. With eyes the colour of dark coffee and only a hint of milk, he regarded me intently, studying me to see if I’d disobeyed him. He would read the guilt on my face in an instant if I had, and I smiled a quick flash to let him know I’d been a good girl.
He cocked his head, a faint smile of his own eager to break out, doused by his ability to control his emotions. He
felt
, I knew that, but the power he had over himself never failed to astound me. A perfect Dom, my Kline. A perfect man in my eyes.
He closed the door, gaze still on me, and half-walked, half-ran to the house. I couldn’t see him then, the porch roof prevented that, so I listened to the sounds of him entering. His keys tinkled as they met the hallway table. The door shut with a crisp snap—a similar sound to the paddle as it met with my ass—and once again my heart picked up speed. I yearned to go and meet him, to rush down the stairs, breathless and wanting, but he’d told me this morning to remain up here when he arrived. I would follow his orders, of course I would, and coached myself calm, told myself breaking the rules, disobeying his instructions wasn’t how we played the game. The end result was never as fulfilling if I disregarded his instructions.
Would he come up here immediately or have me wait? Would he call my name, tell me what he wanted me to do next, or remain silent? Not knowing heightened my desire, and I wrapped my arms around my ribs, brought my legs closer together in order to feel the wet slickness as my inner thighs rubbed one another. How could a man make a woman so wet at just the thought of him? How had he burrowed so deeply into my heart?
With no sign of him coming upstairs, I let my mind wander—I needed something, anything to take my mind off what he was doing. If I didn’t, I would end up coming where I stood with no help from his cock or my fingers. That had happened before and I’d been amazed by it. The level, the intensity of the feelings I had for him were all I needed to get me going, to have me shivering all over, rinsed time and again in a desire I’d never felt with anyone else.
I thought of the last time we’d been to the hotel, where he’d tied me to the bed with duct tape at my request, told me he’d give me a night to remember. And he had, bringing Jack into the room, the man he’d paid to join us. To lick my slit as Kline sucked my nipples, Jack tugging on the chains attached to them until the hard, needy buds extended so far out that the pain grew exquisite. To fuck my ass as Kline fucked my cunt.
“He’s going to prime your ass now, Anna. Make it nice and wet, ready to take him. He’s got a hard cock, sweetheart. You ready for us both now?”
Just recalling those words, Kline’s voice so steady and in control, had me almost crying out, but if I did, he might hear me, think that I was touching myself. I thought, then, whether Kline had it in mind to invite Jack along again. Although I wouldn’t object, tonight, at least, I wanted Kline all to myself. His plans for this weekend involved taking me into subspace, something I had never quite achieved in the past, and I was determined to reach it. Having Jack there wouldn’t be right, not the first time I managed it anyway—it had to be something special, just between myself and Kline.
A shuffle sounded, not close enough to be Kline on the stairs. I stiffened, eager for the moment he walked through the bedroom doorway. My staggered breaths masked any other noise he might have loosed and, much as I tried, I couldn’t concentrate enough to pick up on where Kline was. The thoughts of Jack, of sharing us with him, had me losing focus. Yet I had wanted that, my mind taken off what Kline was doing and the anticipation of when he would bless me with his presence. Yes, I had, but, damn it, I also wanted to think about him. I ground my teeth at my inability to know
what
I wanted, to stick to one thing and one thing only. Kline always had that effect on me, had me at sixes and sevens, blasts of contradicting emotions shuddering through me until I thought I’d go insane.